Over The Hills And Far Away
by Ithildiel
Summary: Three elves. Two sisters, one man - two friends and a stranger. Even an Elf can change, if they make the wrong choices. Some choices do not only affect ourselves - and it is all too easy to be dragged into the consequences... Updated 10th August
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Tolkien owns everything. Oh, except Erethien. She's mine, obviously.

A/N: This is not a ten-member fic, however much it looks like one. It is not a Legomance, or any other kind of romance. All reviews welcome, especially constructive criticism. I'm a glutton for punishment. I am keeping the whole thing as close to the book canon as I possibly can; any major errors pointed out are gratefully received.

The use of italics and '' denotes thoughts.

Many thanks to dreamingfifi and Esperanza Fuega for betaing this chapter!

ITHILDIEL

PROLOGUE

A small elfling paused in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder guiltily. She knew she was not supposed to be here. The faint glow of the approaching dawn played over her brown hair, and gleamed copper-gold on the rows of burnished steel on the armoury walls that the young ellethgazed at with such awe.

Carefully, the child approached one of the huge longswords on its low shelf, and traced a respectful finger along the weapon. She saw in her mind the warriors who had held the leather-bound hilt with strong fingers, felt in herself the thrill of adrenaline at the thought of hard muscles swinging it through the air to deadly effect.

'_I could do that,'_ she though wistfully._ 'I know I could.'_

It was not in the nature of her race to long for bloodshed; the Elves were a peace-loving folk, not least in the Undying Lands. Yet the art of wielding weapons - for she indeed saw it as an art - was one that fascinated her. She was very young, scarcely more than twenty-five, yet she longed to try her hand at her father's trade: the trade of knowing instinctively how to use a blade to the greatest advantage, unnecessary though it might be in these times of peace. The child had no wish to fight, no wish for bloodshed.

She merely wished to learn. A love of legend and tales of high deeds had instilled in her a great respect for the ways of the sword. To learn those ways was an honour, a privilege. This child could see things that others of her age didn't and couldn't see; things that many of them never would. She seemed alone in seeing beauty in a sharp blade, glowing scarlet in her grandfather's forge, in seeing the deadly grace of the warrior as the ultimate perfection of existence. Other Elves gave those honours to the Vanyar - the fair-faced singers and lovers of music. She was not a beautiful child. She did not hold beauty to be the ultimate achievement, having lived all her life with so much around her.

Her gaze lingered on the longsword before she turned away regretfully. The weapon was far too heavy for her to lift; it was almost taller than she was. Frustration surged through her momentarily, to be followed by an odd satisfaction.

'_You are a worthy adversary, sword of my father, and of his father before him. When I am ready, when I am worthy, I shall wield you. And then I shall indeed be grown.' _The child did not consciously think this; rather she felt it, knowing it to be true. She had never tried her hand at this art, but cherished a private hope that she had the gift.

The child approached another shelf, where a smaller short sword lay in its scabbard. Lifting the sword from the wall with a great effort and the utmost care, she pulled it clear of the sheath, gaze travelling along the steel shining so coldly in the semi-darkness. She stood up with the blade balanced across her palms, feeling the chill steel warm at the heat of her skin.

A bird called outside and she jumped violently, and the weapon slipped to the floor from her small hands. Instinctively, she reached out to catch it, and gave a short cry when she felt a sharp pain as the edge cut into her palm. She quickly stifled the sound, and looked at her hand. The child watched, awed, as red blood flowed from the long, deep wound. Power was in this sword. Such power. Such deadly grace.

She wiped her hand on her short tunic and touched the weapon, leaving a trickle of blood on the bright steel. The elleth shivered and sighed, wiping the hilt with the hem of her tunic. With an almost guilty glance out of the door, she slid the weapon back into its scabbard and, lifting it carefully, replaced the sword on the shelf, wiping the leather as she stepped away wistfully. Unconsciously, out of long habit, the child closed her hand around a dark stone that hung round her neck. _'This is how I was meant to be_._' _She smiled a little, liking the thought. '_Oh, Ada! Why will you not let me learn?'_

She knew the answer well. Their family was four; it should have been six. Nelladel and Limbadhor had been born in Middle-Earth long before their sister's time. The child had known neither brother nor sister; both siblings had been killed violently in a skirmish just east of Mirkwood, at the ages of only four and two hundred - very young in the eyes of their people. Many warriors had lost their lives that bloody day, but this did not dull the heartache of her parents. Their mother had been devastated, comforted only by her husband and remaining child.

Lalaithien was the third child of the family, and the oldest now living. She was the black sheep of the family, for Lalaithien was a dancer, light of heart in name and nature. The elleth was slender and slight in sharp contrast to her younger sister, and dancing was her passion. When she danced, she felt utterly free; something which bewildered her younger sister, for whom it often seemed that life was but a complex arrangement of rules and restrictions.

After the death of his oldest children, the child's father, Limcost, had become bitter and angry, afraid that he would lose his remaining daughters, even in the Blessed Realm. He blamed his late children's aptitude for their weapons, and refused to allow either remaining daughter to learn weapons beyond the basics of archery. Archery held no appeal for the child. She had a fair enough aim, but was nothing out of the ordinary, and knew she never would be. Reasonable competency was about the highest she would ever achieve in archery. She got no satisfaction from it, had never seen it as something particularly worth aspiring to. Many Elves were archers. Archery was not the stuff of legend; it held no awed fascination for her.

Many of her elders were surprised and a little disturbed at her passionate interest in swordplay - which was rapidly growing to be an obsession. She would sit in the library for hours on end, poring over tales of battles and sword fights in her father's books of lore, only to shut the heavy volumes with a guilty slam every time someone walked into the room. The child's loves and hates were strong and unhindered, little in keeping with the rest of her kind. Yet she went her way unaware, undaunted by her passions.

A bird called outside, and a muffled call was heard from within the house.

"Erethien!"

The child backed hastily out of the armoury and ran out into the dawn. The golden light of Anor played over her small, slight form, which one day would be tall and broad, built for strength and built for speed. Amber rays sparkled in her young eyes as she gazed in innocent wonder at the sky. The light gleamed on her hands, running crimson as she stood heedless, the cut from the blade forgotten. Erethien smiled, unaware, as the golden rays caught the snow on Taniquetil, the mountaintop sparkling as if with thousands of diamonds.

The pendant caught the rays of sunlight, gleaming darkly. Traces of blood glistened on the obsidian blackness as the child stood in the dawning, a young figure with bloody hands.

_Elleth - _'elf maiden'

_Erethien_ - 'lady of solitude'

_Lalaithien - _'lady oflaughter'

_Limbadhor _- 'swift judge'

_Limcost _- 'swift quarrel'

_Nelladel_ - 'ringing of bells'


	2. Anonymous

DISCLAIMER: See first chapter. Many thanks to dreamingfifi and Esperanza for betaing this.

Single quotes plus italics denotes character thought.

1. Anonymous

Aragorn picked his way carefully over the uneven ground, watchful of any movement or sound. He did not have much time for he had to tend to Frodo, but equally he had to know something about the Nazgul's movements if they were to continue their journey towards Imladris. Walking unwittingly into the Nine's company would be nothing short of suicide.

Aragorn lay flat on the grassy down, keen eyes scanning the darkness. Nothing. It would seem that the wraiths had gone. "I must return," he muttered to himself, half unconscious that he had spoken. "Frodo is in danger. My skills as a healer have been well learned, but …"

The Ranger trailed off, and jumped as he heard someone speaking behind him - someone who, apparently, had appeared out of thin air.

"Well learned?"

He turned, hand on hilt, and was taken aback to find himself looking right down the shaft of a rather lethal-looking arrow.

Aragorn raised his hands, though he suspected that he knew this was an Elf - Elves were some of the few who could sneak up on him. He recognised that clear, ringing tone of voice; it belonged to one of the Firstborn, without question.

Aragorn glared at the tall figure stood in front of him, irritated at being unable to place him. The newcomer was clad in a long cloak, his hood pulled low over his face. Only his eyes were visible - blue grey and sharp as a spearhead. Like Aragorn's own, the eyes seemed to pierce into him and out the other side. Not uncommon among the Eldar. But where Aragorn's were kindly, these eyes were hard and uncompromising. Entirely expressionless.

"Well learned?" the voice repeated, sounding slightly amused. "As has been the ability to sneak up on a Ranger, Estel."

The voice was clear and very slightly musical; certainly an Elvish voice, though the Sindarin was spoken with a strange, lilting accent, and the voice was less smooth and melodic than was the wont of the Elves. Aragorn had heard that accent before. He frowned; the voice did not go with the figure's height and broad shoulders. It was not . . . masculine. The Ranger looked at the stranger appraisingly - if anything, he himself was a good two inches smaller than the cloaked Elf. Aragorn was not used to being shorter than anyone, and it narrowed down his options considerably.

'_Oh, I now have a fairly good idea of who you are,' _he thought_. ' And frankly, I am not altogether surprised. Or pleased.' _"Is that you?" he enquired aloud.

"Is that whom?"

The ranger folded his arms across a broad chest as the arrow was returned to its quiver. "Erethien, I do not have time for this."

The figure inclined his head and removed his hood, brown hair tumbling around his face. _Her _face, Aragorn corrected himself resignedly. It was a woman. Every time he met her, he made the same mistake - usually because it was dark, and because she took positive delight in surprising him. Even so, he always felt uncomfortably foolish for having thought her a man - even for a short time. Though with that build, it was not an unfair assumption, and nor was he the first to have made it. Which, in fact, suited the elleth very well indeed.

"Very good, son of Arathorn. Too well can you recognise me; I evidently need new disguises."

Aragorn sighed in exasperation and grasped her shoulders. "Erethien, what are you doing here? Why the disguise?"

She raised an eyebrow, clear skin flickering pale silver in the moonlight. "It serves me to remain anonymous. I was looking for you."

Aragorn regarded her in irritation. This elleth kept popping up wherever he went, though she usually had a good reason. Usually. There had been several occasions when the Ranger was convinced that she had appeared because she knew how much it annoyed him. "Have you been stalking me?"

The Elf sighed impatiently. "Must you put it so? Yes, of course I have been following you - how else would I know your whereabouts? I came to warn you. The Nine are headed for this place _now _… or they were when I last caught sight of them. They know where you are camped." She hesitated briefly, not given to advising the likes of Estel. "I was nearby, and was not sure of how much you were aware of."

Aragorn nodded his thanks, though her warning had come late. He had known that the Nazgul were close, and their danger great - but not so great as it had proved.

Erethien watched his face closely. "I take it my warning comes late, then."

Aragorn nodded. "Aye. But I thank you for your trouble."

Erethien shook her head. "I am sorry for that. It was no trouble. Were any hurt?"

Aragorn observed her guardedly. He had no idea of how much she knew, or did not know. Or indeed how much she _should_ know - Erethien's ethics tended to be rather sketchy, to say the least.

She regarded him with an arched brow. "I know your secrets well, Aragorn; you need not fear to tell me."

Aragorn grimaced. It was true that she did usually contrive to know considerably more than she should - though to say that she knew all his secrets was something of an exaggeration. When questioned about her sources, or her own origins, she invariably replied 'Over the hills and far away', which never failed to annoy the questioner. Which was, of course, why she said it.

"Erethien, do you not have other affairs to attend to?"

"Very well, keep your secrets," she responded, unsurprised. Not many people trusted her with vital information. For good reasons, as it happened.

"Are you camping here?" Aragorn asked, suspecting he knew the answer - the woman never stayed in one place for long.

"I? No, I must go now. I cannot linger here." The elleth began to walk away, feet soundless on the grass.

"Take care," Aragorn advised her somewhat pointlessly. Erethien was notorious for not taking advice about her personal safety. "These lands are not safe for a solitary traveller."

"I shall be just fine," she responded impatiently, looking over her shoulder at him. "I am not dead yet."

"Do not trust so heavily in your good fortune," Aragorn cautioned; he had always had deep misgivings about Erethien's rather lax attitude towards defence. "One day it will desert you again, as it did once before."

Erethien merely shrugged. "That was then; I was unprepared for the attack, and I was inexperienced. This is now, and I must leave. I am in little danger and I wish you luck, for they do not hunt for me - they hunt for _you _. Or rather for you and your company," she replied, her gaze travelling over to the fire where Aragorn had left the hobbits. She frowned slightly. "Why are you travelling with halflings?

Aragorn sighed, and decided to feign deafness. He did not have the inclination to explain or the time to argue, and the woman could argue for hours on end given half a chance. "Where are you going? Does your road take you past Imladris?"

"I know not. I have not yet decided. Why?"

"If you do go there . . . will you tell Undómiel that I am but twenty days at the most from the house of her father?"

Erethien shrugged in a rather un-Elven fashion and nodded - her road would probably have gone past the valley in any case.

"Very well; I will tell her." She nodded to the Ranger and walked into the darkness.

Aragorn watched her melt into the night before returning swiftly to the campfire.

'_If we had travelled slower, or she quicker, this could have been prevented,'_ he reflected darkly.He shook himself. It was not Erethien's fault, no matter how irritating she could be. The Ringbearer needed his attention - the Ranger pushed the thoughts from his mind. They were not helping him now.

Erethien looked up at the dark sky, feeling the raindrops falling coldly on her face. There was no point in staying in Eriador; the thing she searched for was not there, and she had known it for many years. She had travelled every step of country from Dunland to the passes of the Grey Mountains, and after centuries, still she searched. It was time, she was beginning to realise, to go south. Failing that, east.

Erethien knew well that going east these days was unwise, if not utter madness - but she knew it only as a fact. She had not seen it herself, and having little or no imagination could not guess. Erethien did not fear the notion of taking the road eastwards or what she might meet on it. She had warned Aragorn of the Nazgul's approach for the simple reason that he was a useful ally. They had fought together on several occasions, and the aid of a Ranger was not to be slighted. Especially that particular Ranger.

Not that he knew of her search. None save herself and the Lord of Imladris knew of that, and Erethien saw little need for them to. It was her own affair. There was a good reason for the way she guarded her knowledge. Emotions meant little to her, except as an excuse for a fight or a dangerous situation; adrenaline was the air she breathed and chaos the sea she swam in. It suited her. The only thing Erethien cared for was her search, and surviving long enough to complete it.

Erethien whistled sharply, and nodded as she heard the dull thud of hooves on the ground. A dark bay mare halted in front of her, drenched with the rain. Erethien patted her neck in approval as she leapt lightly onto the mare's wet back. She had always felt a vague sort of affection for Cerveth ever since she had found her running loose in Minhiriath a decade ago, but had never really recognised or known how to act on it. Not uncommon for Erethien - very rarely did she actually realise when she was experiencing any emotion much more delicate than boiling rage - or, at best, excitement. Subtlety was not, never had been and never would be her strong point.

She shook her head and spoke quietly to the mare, whose ears flicked back in order to catch her rider's voice against the noise of the rain, the whispered command scarcely audible. The bay mare broke into a swift canter, changing direction smoothly with a murmur from her rider. Cerveth cantered due east, her rider a tall, dark, broad shouldered figure in the stormy night.

Arwen Undómiel lifted her dark head from her book as she sensed a coldness entering her father's realm. That would be Erethien. Nobody else gave her that sense of glacial untouchability. She shivered. Erethien was interesting - or probably would be if she ever gave anything away - but she made Arwen uneasy. There was something almost animal-like about that woman. Almost indifferent.

A short while later, light footsteps came from the left of the tree where she sat, and she looked up. It was indeed Erethien, looking exactly as she had when she had last seen Arwen two years ago: scruffy cloak, scruffy shoes, scruffy green leggings, scruffy tunic - scruffy everything in fact, except her weapons, which were some of the few things she possessed that she invariably kept spotless.

Arwen wished that the elf would do something about her appearance, but knew she never would. Erethien reminded Arwen of Estel in that respect - she did not care about such things, and never had.

Erethien nodded to Arwen in greeting, wondering briefly, as she always did, how it was possible for somebody to look like that. Not that Erethien had the faintest interest in appearances, but she recognised beauty when she saw it. Well was the daughter of Elrond named, for she truly was the Evenstar of her race; Eärendil's light shone in her fair face and danced in her grey eyes. There was no one like Arwen save Lúthien, who had died centuries ago. It was strange that the lady with Lúthien's likeness would follow Lúthien's fate. Many considered it a waste; Erethien supposed that it was, but then she did not fully understand the reasoning behind Arwen's decision. And probably never would.

Erethien shook herself. '_Why am I daydreaming? I am here for a reason.'_

"Erethien. What brings you here?" Arwen greeted her. Erethien seldom set foot in Imladris, and whenever she did, it was for a clear purpose.

Erethien nodded to her in acknowledgement. "You do, Arwen. Estel requested that I tell you something."

Arwen sighed impatiently as the elf did not volunteer more detailed information. It was always like this. Erethien seemed to take positive delight in irritating others by withholding details. "What did he say?"

Erethien raised an eyebrow. "That he was but twenty days from Imladris at the most - that would be but nine days now, for I rode here and he is on foot. I had a difficult enough time getting past the guards to give his words to you, but I succeeded." She bowed in a mockingly elaborate fashion.

Arwen shook her head and laughed. "Dispense with the formalities; they do not suit you. Only nine days?" she asked, her face lighting up with hope. She sorely missed Estel when he was away.

Erethien nodded, her expression neutral in contrast.

"That is wonderful news! Thank you. Though I see by your face that you do not understand at all. Am I correct?"

Erethien shook her head in surprise at Arwen's joyful reaction. "You are, Arwen. And I must go."

Arwen looked at her, surprised. "So soon? Are you not remaining?"

Erethien shook her head and tucked her long hair behind her ears. "I have my own affairs to attend to. Besides, there is no real reason for me to stay." She turned and walked back up the path leading out of the valley, the sense of coldness lessening as she became further away.

Arwen shook her head again. Erethien was indeed a strange woman - aloofness was one thing, but she came across as so icily indifferent that it was almost unnatural. '_In fact, there is no 'almost' about it,'_ Arwen reflected_. 'She is unnatural. Why does she choose to wander apparently aimlessly in the wilds?'_

Her father had mentioned something to her about a search, but not in any detail. Arwen wondered briefly what she looked for. Erethien's parents had gone over the sea long ago under dark circumstances shortly before Erethien was born; but for some unfathomable reason the elleth had returned alone. Many years later, she had, like Estel, taken to the wilderness. But Estel at least had a purpose - as perhaps did Erethien, though it was certainly hidden from most.

Arwen sighed and returned to her book, hoping that Erethien would one day find what she sought. Though judging by the way she acted, Arwen had long considered it highly likely that she would get herself killed before she found it. Whatever it was.

_Cerveth: July_


	3. Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know

Disclaimer: I own nothing that Tolkien owns. Whee. Such fun it is. 

A/N: Thanks muchly to all the nice people who reviewed…

Spootasia Tomoe: Heh, I'm not depressed anymore – exams are over! Thanks for reviewing… I love reviews.

Dust in the Wind and Silverknight 7: See, I did update!

Werecat 99: Heh. I already responded… but who cares. This has all been edited now… so hopefully an improvement! LOL.

Many thanks to dreamingfifi and Esperanza Fuega for betaing this chapter!

2. Mad, Bad and Dangerous To Know . . .

Erethien looked to the sky. It was just after midday, and her horse was tired. She slowed Cerveth to a walk, singing very softly and very off-key an extremely morbid song, rather suited to the dismal November weather.

"Come, Cerveth. I can take the pack for a while," she murmured as she slid the pack off the mare's sweating back. Better for her to be tired than the horse - Cerveth could carry her, but she could not carry Cerveth. Also, Cerveth could go further if she had no load to bear - if Erethien carried the pack, she could average around eight or nine hours a day, at the most.

Erethien studied the map from her shoulder bag intently. She really needed a new one - it was weather-stained and travel-worn. In fact, it was falling apart. Erethien cursed herself for not getting the map copied while she had been in Imladris. She shook it out, back to the howling wind. Erethien knew that Rohan was notorious for being windy - but she had never yet appreciated just how irritating this could be. She tried to shake her hair out of her eyes and scanned what she could read of the map.

"Elbereth," she swore as she attempted to make out some writing. "Next town I get to, I am going to have a new one made."

Cerveth snorted at her and Erethien shook her head at the mare. "I am not _that_ penniless, Cerveth! Poor I may be, but I think I can stretch to a decent map." _'Perhaps I am mad too, as well as poor,'_ she thought with a slight grin. _'I do not even know whether I speak to the horse, or myself. Perhaps I have been alone for too long.'_ Erethien dismissed this fleeting thought immediately. She liked being alone - she always had. Her parents had not named her on an idle whim or fancy.

Eventually, she gave up the attempt. She had come through the High Pass in the mountains near Imladris after delivering Aragorn's message, and had ridden over three hundred miles along the East of the Misty Mountains, crossing the Celebrant and the Nimrodel just west of Lothlórien. Erethien had not entered the Golden Wood. She had no business there. It was a long way round, but probably easier on horseback than most other routes.

Erethien now had the woods of Fangorn to her west, that much she already knew - but as to her exact whereabouts, she had no idea. As well as decrepit, the map was not sufficiently detailed for her purposes; ideally she would have wanted one showing all the villages and hamlets, no matter how small. Erethien had a method for scouring an area; first she would travel to every settlement and ask for any news of what she sought - if anyone knew anything of it, she followed the lead immediately. The upside to this was that once in a while, she managed to see other lands. She had made a few trips into Gondor in her time - most of them fruitless, but it did provide a change of scenery.

However, it very rarely worked that way, and she would then systematically ride throughout the country in search. The scouring of one land was always the work of centuries, and required endless patience. Erethien had many strengths and many assets. Unfortunately, patience was not one of them. Millennia of learning the hard way had not taught Erethien moderation or restraint, and certainly not serenity.

"Edoras," she muttered, studying the map once more. "Damn it, where is Edoras?"

Edoras, it transpired, was approximately south southeast from the Wold, where she now stood cursing the useless scrap of parchment that she liked to call a map. Or at least, what she assumed to be Edoras. Erethien sighed. It would waste time going there, but without a legible and detailed map there was little point in continuing - she stood a good chance of being hopelessly lost and retracing her footsteps endlessly. Better to waste a few days in the short term.

Erethien squinted up at the weak rays of the midday sun, turning Cerveth in the right direction as she walked on into what she assumed was the East Emnet. The land felt restless, somehow. Erethien would have been apprehensive, if she had known how to be. She knew there was something coming. Cerveth threw her head up into the air, snorting.

"Cerveth, you are even more paranoid than I am," Erethien chided her horse. "It is not unusual to smell horses in Rohan." _'Clearly I have had a bad effect on this horse,'_ she observed._ 'I crossed the line between caution and paranoia a very long time ago.' _Cerveth, as a rule, was not incautious by nature, which was more than could be said for her mistress; possibly because unlike Cerveth, Erethien did not tend to learn from her mistakes.

The mare whickered and laid her ears back.

"Hush! Why do you worry so?" The elf could now hear the thunder of mounted horses, but surely that was nothing unusual in Rohan? Nonetheless, she led the prancing Cerveth closer to the shelter of a large boulder - it was entirely possible that Cerveth was merely making a fuss about the wind. She had always had an extreme dislike of the wind - rain, snow and heat the mare had never minded and had endured stoically, but she became bad-tempered in the wind. Upon reaching the relative shelter of the boulder, Cerveth promptly shied violently at nothing.

"Elbereth, Cerveth! Why so nervous?" Erethien mounted again in order to have more control should the mare panic. The Eldar had a way with animals, but this was developed in Erethien to no extraordinary degree - she preferred to trust to more conventional methods than the calming powers of her kind.

The bay mare was getting more nervous by the second, snorting and sidling backwards, away from the faint sound of hooves. Erethien sighed and decided to trust her horse's instinct rather than her own, if for nothing but Cerveth's peace of mind - a mistake in retrospect. _'A neurotic horse is not a prerequisite for a successful journey,'_ she reasoned. "Very well, Cerveth - you win. Where do you want to go?" she asked her mount in fluid Sindarin. Cerveth snorted, bucked, and galloped off in the opposite direction to the horsemen.

"Valar! Calm yourself, Cerveth! Noro ún lagor, or you shall fall! Break your own legs if you so wish, but I myself do not plan to die just yet!"

To Erethien's relief, Cerveth slowed a little. The elf glanced over her shoulder to see what exactly the mare was so startled by, just in time to hear an order to halt carried on the wind.

"Elbereth! What now?" she muttered as she brought her mount to an uneasy halt and dismounted. After several hundred years, she had had quite enough of being accosted by various inhabitants of various realms.

Twelve riders formed a circle around her, lances lowered. Cerveth fidgeted skittishly.

"Lasto beth nín, Cerveth," Erethien murmured. "Cerveth, thál!"

The mare quietened a little, but her ears remained firmly back. Erethien sighed.

'_Of all the inconvenient times to learn that I have no aptitude for something, this situation would go fairly high on my list,'_ she thought in irritation. If Cerveth panicked, Erethien had no idea of what exactly she could do about it.

Erethien scowled. "Is this really necessary?" she demanded of the captain, who chose to ignore her. A few drops of rain fell, intensifying quickly into a heavy shower. Erethien scowled even more. Just what she needed.

The leader dismounted and walked forward. "What business have you in Rohan?"

Cerveth snorted and Erethien inhaled slowly. _'Courtesy, woman, courtesy. Keep calm,' _she reminded herself silently. "I travel to Edoras."

"With what purpose?"

'_Valar, since when is it any of your business?'_ Erethien thought in irritation. "I wish to buy a map," she replied shortly.

"And what would an Elf be doing in Rohan? Your folk dwell far from here, in places from which few return. Nets of sorcery have ever been wound around the Eldar Folk. What business have you here?"

'_Be careful, horsemaster. Or I shall get angry.'_ "My business is none of your concern," she returned sharply. "And guard your tongue, horsemaster; the Elves are not to be slandered. Kindly cease prying into my affairs, for I have as much right to be here as you do."

"I highly doubt that - and you are in no position to make requests, Elf. What is your business here? And why did you flee from us, if you had any right to be here?"

"I did not _flee_," Erethien snapped, pushing wet hair out of her face"My horse wished to go, and I listened and let her run. I thought that a horse lord would know to trust his horse in the wilderness, whose senses are keener than his own."

Cerveth whickered quietly, as if to warn Erethien that she was walking on thin ice. Erethien was quite aware of this - she had simply ceased to care. Erethien was deeply tempted to say more, but knew to guard her tongue with these folk. Like herself, she knew that the Rohirrim were proud - and easily incensed.

"Hold your tongue, elf! I will ask you but once more - why are you here?"

Erethien smirked. "How then shall I answer, when I was bidden hold my tongue?" she shot back, feeling the fierce, childish glee of having won a point in an argument, though she knew she was being foolish. _'I am damned if the person I reveal myself to will be an arrogant mortal.' _

"One answer, elf, ere we take you to Edoras bound hand and foot as a spy," hissed the rider. "Unless, of course, you have anything to hide."

Erethien considered making something up - but, accomplished liar though she was, she did not know these lands well enough for a story to hold water. The Rider would have seen through her immediately. Erethien was highly skilled in the area of deception - mainly because she genuinely did not care that she was lying. It was the single positive outcome of her rashness so long ago - of the disaster that had set her on this lonely path. _'And even that gift is marked by darkness,'_ she reflected bitterly as rainwater trickled down her neck. Cerveth shifted her weight from side to side - she could tell that her mistress was not in the best of tempers.

The Rider raised an eyebrow, questioning at her silence. Erethien's thoughts snapped back to the present, and her annoyance flooded back._ 'Perhaps the truth might not hurt. Not the whole truth, though. Just a little.'_

"My business, such as it is, is personal, and as such I prefer not to pour out my intentions to every mortal that crosses my path. I seek something. Something that was taken from me, long ago," she replied reluctantly. Her gaze darkened. "The Eldar have no need of spies; if I were you, I should not judge others by your own standards."

'_That came out the wrong way,'_ Erethien realised much too late, as the captain looked distinctly unconvinced and a little satisfied. _'Yet again - wrong place, wrong time, wrong words. The Valar must hate me!'_

"A liar, then, as well as a spy. Very well - as you wish. Tie her up!"

Almost reflexively, Erethien made a snap decision and drew a knife swiftly, holding the point steadily under the rider's chin before anyone else had time to react. This, she knew very well, was an extremely high-risk strategy. She was glad that Hathel, her weapons tutor, could not see her now - he had frequently reprimanded her for her recklessness. _'Hathel would have had a fit.'_ But it was too late to turn back now. She had done it again - risked a great deal for her own pride. Erethien was no stranger to gambling when the stakes were high. And she generally played for keeps.

"Walk away! Move backwards, or he dies!" She put a little pressure on the blade to emphasise her point.

"You would not dare," sneered the man, though his gaze remained on the steel point of the small dagger - small, but quite capable of killing him when in this position.

Only six inches from the captain's face, Erethien's dark eyes burned into his, twin flames of grey-blue. "Really? I dare you to try my temper. Are you willing to risk your life on that little wager? Tell me. Look me in the eye, and tell me that I cannot do it."

The man met her gaze briefly, and was shaken by what he saw. In the elf's eyes was a chilly fire - a savage indifference. He read there an unnerving combination of hot anger, cold calculation. The captain opened his mouth, then closed it. He could not say that the stranger would not kill him. She could. He knew she could.

Erethien smirked slightly, knowing it would incense him. Arrogant people were so easy to predict that it was almost unfair to take the advantage, given that she herself was so similar in temperament. "I thought not. I am no spy, but my reasons for being here are my own business, and nobody else's. I gave you the truth - if you choose to disbelieve it, then that is your own affair. Move backwards, all of you!" she addressed the men surrounding her. "Or do you wish to lose your captain?"

The riders backed away a few paces, muttering.

"Further! To that large boulder on your right, all of you, and perhaps I shall let him go. If you are not too slow about it."

"Captain?" queried a younger rider uncertainly.

"Yes, go," replied the unfortunate man. This little interrogation was not going as he had hoped it would. The riders slowly backed off, leaving Cerveth standing loose, ears twitching. Erethien shot a brief glance Cerveth's way, hoping that the mare would stay put. She would need her very soon, if she were to make a swift escape.

Erethien waited until the horses were milling around the boulder several hundred yards away, before removing her knife from the Rider's throat, who immediately drew his own blade and lunged. Erethien promptly dropped her short dagger onto the muddy grass and drew a knife from her belt - if a thirty-inchblade could be called a knife by anyone much smaller than six and a half feet.

Erethien would have laughed if she had not been concentrating on staying alive. This captain was no faint-heart. Arrogant, rude and foolhardy perhaps, but he was no coward. A man after her own heart. She dodged the blow easily and swung her weapon at the leader's feet, bringing it back to his neck as he attempted to block the blow. _'Elvish speed does come in handy at times, it would seem.'_ She allowed herself a brief moment of smugness before kicking his legs from beneath him. The captain, to his credit, had kept a hold on his sword. _'Just as I would have done.'_

"Drop your sword," she commanded, keeping the blade at his throat while she picked up the dagger left-handed.

"Are you giving me orders?"

"Yes, I am," she returned calmly. "Well observed. Drop the weapon."

"And if I do not wish to?"

"Then I shall run you through with my own, and shall be no worse off," she replied coolly. "I have murdered before - I can murder again. I said drop it!"

He did so, with much blustering and many empty threats. Erethien shook her head, half amused. "I could beat you in single combat any day of the week, with one arm tied behind my back," she stated with total confidence, slinging the pack onto her back as she switched her knife to her left hand. "If you value your life, wait until I am gone, before even entertaining the thought of pursuing me. We Elves are sharp shots from moving horses, you know."_ 'Though the term "most Elves" might be more appropriate,'_ she thought wryly._ 'Skilled in deception I may be, but archery always was my weak area. But then, he is not to know that.'_

The rider smirked, raising a questioning brow. "Even with a wet bowstring?"

Erethien patted her pocket. She hardly ever used the weapon if she could help it, and so saw little point in keeping it strung. "A few seconds is all it would take for an Elf to restring their weapon - and a shorter time to fire it," she returned, keeping one eye on the riders a hundred yards away. "I would not risk it."

The captain fell silent. She sheathed her knife and mounted Cerveth smoothly. The mare broke into a swift canter, not troubling to look back at the shamed patrol leader. All she had damaged was his ego, which should heal in time.

Three hours and a hard ride later, Erethien dismounted to walk beside her exhausted horse under the stars while she thought. In order to avoid being recaptured, she had doubled back on herself several times, assuming that the heavy rain would sufficiently confuse any tracks that she left. The upshot of this was that the patrol was now considerably closer to Edoras than she was.

Erethien chewed her lip. Could she risk going to Edoras now? _'Threatening a captain of a land you wish to search through. Not your brightest move, Erethien.'_

She sighed. If she went to Edoras now, she risked capture - but only if the patrol had returned. If she did not go to Edoras, she risked capture anyway and also being hopelessly lost. Erethien did not know Rohan sufficiently well to get by without the aid of a good map. She knew the general geography of most of Middle Earth, but the positions of Rohan's minor towns and villages were beyond her. The fact that she spent centuries at a time in one land before moving to the next did not help - that was the trouble with a detailed map. It was something of a miracle that she had got this far at all.

Eventually, she decided to risk it. Erethien glanced up at the night sky, turning Cerveth eastward, towards the position of the smudge on her map - which she fervently hoped was Edoras.

Hours later, Erethien sighed with relief as she saw the city on the hill and the moonlight glinting on the roof of Meduseld. She had been going in the right direction after all. Erethien patted Cerveth and weighed her chances. Stopping here on the open plains for the night was rather tempting fate - she did not know when the patrol would return to the city. On the other hand, nobody in Edoras would be willing to sell her a map at this hour - and the quicker she was in and out of the city, the better.

"Where, where, where should I run to?" she sang softly and quite spectacularly out of tune. Most elves were gifted singers, but not Erethien - when she had lived in Imladris, she had been rather notorious for the fact that she even whistled off-key, though she had not always been this way. It was her own fault.

The mare laid her ears back, and Erethien laughed. "I know, I know, I am not a minstrel! We can stop here for the night," she decided as she unbuckled the light pack from Cerveth, who shook her head and began to graze as Erethien tied her to a stake. She would not have put it past the mare to wander off in the night.

Erethien considered making a fire now that the rain had stopped, but decided against it. _'The longer I pass unnoticed, the better.'_ She wrapped herself in her cloak, for the air was chill and windy in November, and looked at the stars.

"For once," she muttered, "could I please have a little luck in getting myself out of this mess that I have created? Just once - is that too much to ask?" she addressed the stars, which twinkled at her unhelpfully. Erethien sighed and stood next to Cerveth, one arm flung over the mare's wet back. It would be a long, long night.

_Cerveth - _July

_Lasto beth nin, Cerveth_ - Listen to my words, Cerveth

_Noro ún lagor_ - ride slowly. (literal translation: ride not swiftly.)

_Cerveth, thál! _- Cerveth, be steady!

_Hathel_ - broadsword


	4. Silver Dagger

Disclaimer: I am neither dead, adult nor male, and my name is not Tolkien. Therefore, I own no recognisable characters or places. 

A/N: Woo... longest chapter I've ever written! Sorry for the delay - I've been on holiday! And I've been nitpicking. So one way or another... (sighs)

As always, reviews and especially constructive criticism will inspire me and make me very happy indeed. (looks hopeful) Thanks to the nice reviewers are at the bottom. As always, many thanks to dreamingfifi and Esperanza for betaing this work.

ITHILDIEL

3. Silver Dagger

A new day dawned, the sun's feeble light struggling through the still-heavy clouds, sending weak rays over Rohan. It was hardly worth the sun's effort of rising, Erethien thought as she led Cerveth towards the gates of the city. The dawn, usually a symbol of hope, looked distinctly unhopeful to her.

Cerveth nickered suddenly and jerked her head backwards. Erethien felt a cold shiver run down the back of her neck as far-sighted eyes saw a group of horsemen leaving the city. She flung herself on the wet grass, then cursed herself for being a paranoid fool. Of course they could not see her at this distance. And there was no real reason to believe that they were the same men._ 'Well, that was pointless,'_ she observed, as she picked herself up considerably damper than before.

Cerveth quieted and began to graze. Erethien decided to dispense with her cloak, tucking it into Cerveth's pack. The patrol had seen her fully cloaked; there was a slight possibility that she would not be recognised without it._ 'Hah - some hopes. A woman over six foot five, unrecognisable? Hardly likely,'_ Erethien thought cynically. But there was a chance. And it was true that the Eldar had an innate gift for blending into their surroundings and appearing unobtrusive. The elf paused for a moment, then wiped her dirty, muddy hands across her face in an effort to conceal her pale skin. Elven skin was different, visibly paler and clearer than that of a mortal - and different was, at the moment, not a positive thing. _'And if I am forced to flee, I would much rather not have wet hair in my face.'_ She quickly twisted her hair into a long braid, careful to pull it back so that it covered her pointed ears - she needed all the help that was going if she wished to be unrecognised. Not for the first time, Erethien was thankful for the fact that everyone in her family had small ears. Most of her family's traits were polarised, her relations leaning towards one extreme or the other - Erethien was uncommonly tall, but her sister Lalaithien was uncommonly short. But they all had small ears. Small ears and sharp features.

The elleth sighed, and stared at the city - it was a rather pathetic attempt at a disguise, but better than nothing. Erethien continued down to the gates, where a guard stopped her and looked her up and down. Erethien leaned on Cerveth so as to diminish her conspicuous height somewhat, and hoped for the best. This was the moment of truth - if she were recognised, she was in for it.

"What is your business here?"

"I wish to buy a map. Also, my horse needs shoeing," she invented, though Cerveth had never been shod in her life. The sentry eyed the unremarkable bay mare, who flicked her ears disinterestedly at him. Cerveth had been through this rigmarole many times, and it showed.

And for once, the Valar seemed to be with her. The guard had yet to change, and the sentry on duty had not been informed of the stranger who had threatened death to a patrol captain. He nodded briefly in the affirmative and allowed her in. Erethien resisted the urge to smile with relief, and quickly blended into the surroundings. She tied Cerveth to a metal ring on the outer wall of an inn, and strode off through the labyrinth of thatched houses at a leisurely pace. Through bitter experience, she had learned that the quickest way to draw attention to oneself was to hurry.

-

Later, Erethien wandered through the streets, which filled up gradually as people came out to work or in a few cases to talk. Only the very young or the very old could afford their leisure time on a weekday. The Elf watched carefully for a potential hiding place; she would rather pass a few days and nights in the city unnoticed, as copying a map would take a good while - at the least, three days. She was fortunate that the mapmaker had not been busy.

She slipped down a side street, wishing that Edoras were bigger. The bigger the city, the easier it was to lose oneself. She would rather not go past the guards any more than strictly necessary - which meant not at all, except to get out again in a few days. Erethien did not need a place to sleep, but rather a place to hide. And a place to hide Cerveth if possible, though that was asking rather a lot in most cities. In Edoras, however, the city of the Rohirrim, Cerveth would easily pass unnoticed. It was the Elf who would have to constantly strive for secrecy and unobtrusiveness if she were not to be caught.

Erethien turned down another darker street on soundless feet, and saw a man leaning against a wall chewing something. He leered at her, showing broken teeth. "What would you be doing down here, then? Wouldn't be looking for anything, would you?" He leered suggestively again.

Erethien's lip curled. "Not for any of your attention, that is for certain," the Elf retorted, walking on. He barred her way; Erethien folded her arms.

"You're going nowhere," he informed her.

"Really? Are you going to stop me, then? What do you want?"

"Oh yes, I can stop you."

Erethien snorted. "Really? With the help of which army, exactly?"

"I won't be needing any armies. Just me. And you."

Erethien regarded him in disgust for a moment before punching him on the jaw. He staggered for a moment under the sheer force of the blow, then advanced slowly. The Elf had wanted to avoid anything that would attract unwelcome attention, but clearly she would have to give in to temptation. _'What a pity,'_ she thought sardonically as she delivered a swift blow to the temple, effectively rendering him unconscious before she stepped over him and walked on. _'I had forgotten how mortal cities can be,'_ she realised as she slipped down another side street. _'Robbers, thieves, whores - you find them all in the great human cities.'_ Erethien almost smiled - she had known many thieves and outlaws in her life. _'Friends in low places. Not dangerous. But rather irritating.'_

She turned left, and caught sight of a door hanging half off its hinges. Erethien looked around warily before slipping inside. The tiny cottage was in a state of extreme disrepair; clearly no one had lived here for some time. _'And in such a place, who would be willing to?'_ It was perfect. The thatch was falling in, and the walls were rather rotten. But it was a place she could hide in - and hide with Cerveth. Though how she would feed the mare was another question. Cerveth would usually graze, but there was obviously no grass here. Erethien would have to obtain some hay for her. In Edoras, this would obviously not be a problem - the problem was how to do it unobtrusively.

'_There must be hay stockpiled in this city,'_ she reasoned as she walked back towards where she had left Cerveth. _'There are too many horses kept here for there not to be. Getting hold of some is the question. And transporting it.'_ Even in Edoras, walking around with armfuls of hay was rather noticeable, given that she had nothing to transport it in. Erethien considered for a while as she checked that Cerveth was where she had been left - which the mare was - and decided that she would simply have to see how the locals did it.

Eventually, she settled for casually asking a stable hand in an inn where they got the hay for their horses. He seemed rather surprised at the question, eyes that had seen but fourteen years staring at the tall stranger. Erethien laughed. "I am a stranger here," she admitted. "My friend has a horse - he must feed it for a few days."

The youth's face cleared somewhat. "We buy ours from Leofwine - he keeps a large barn and stores it after the harvests. You may be able to buy some there."

-

Three days passed very slowly indeed. Leofwine had allowed her the loan of a barrow to transport the hay, but Erethien had been keenly aware of the attention she had attracted. It was not as bad as it could have been, but she was not comfortable. _'Now I recall why I never brought a horse into a city when I used to scout,'_ she thought as she darned a rent in a tunic. Cerveth flicked her ears at some distant footsteps, and returned to eating. Erethien eyed the mare. "Aye. It is your fault, Cerveth." She gestured at the mare with her needle, which came unthreaded. Erethien swore, rethreaded it and went back to her mending. She had been doing a lot of mending these past few days.

Presently, Erethien tied off her last stitch, and stared at the mare. She was very, very bored of sewing. Cerveth was fresh from no exercise, and her mistress was also restless. "I am damned if I am staying here any longer, she muttered, buckling the pack onto the mare, who grunted in protest as she tightened the girth, and moved away. "Oh no you don't, Cerveth, you perverse, idle creature. You are coming too."

-

Midday found her wandering somewhat aimlessly around the city. Erethien had decided to wait until later before picking up the map - it would probably be finished by evening or late afternoon. In the meantime, there was little for her to do except try to stay inconspicuous, having left Cerveth tied up at an inn - much to the mare's displeasure. Erethien watched a group of townspeople playing dice at a table with some interest. Erethien liked to gamble, when she could - she tended to have an inordinate amount of luck with dice, and enjoyed the risk. This, perhaps, had less to do with luck than her uncanny ability to judge even the slightest unevenness in weight distribution. In short, she could turn even a slightly weighted set of dice to her advantage. Erethien frequently won more money than she earned by selling things. And this was not really the time for trading, considering that she was in a great deal of trouble if she was caught. Even the hay had been risky.

Erethien sighed, and took a knife and a block of wood out of her bag. She began to whittle a rough shape out of the lump of ash, singing a very soft melody under her breath as she did so. Erethien might be an appalling singer, but like all Elves she still enjoyed music.

"Time is only a corner

Age is only a fold

A year is merely a penny

Spent from a century's gold…"

Erethien looked up from her work as presently, one of the men shook his head at his companions, grinning. "No," she heard him say as he stood up and stretched. "You have fleeced me of quite enough of my money today - I must return to my work. Some of us have more on our minds than gambling." This comment was met with nods and laughter - clearly he was popular, and possibly notorious for losing, Erethien noted idly as she watched the remaining three players.

One of the men looked up at the soft sound of singing. The song had either a very odd tune, or was being sung very off-key. He looked up, and was slightly startled at the sight of the singer. The figure leant against a wall, knife flashing as long, graceful fingers held a block of ash. Even leaning against the wall, the stranger was easily over six feet. What perplexed the man was the long braid hanging over one shoulder. Only the women of that land wore their hair so - he had never seen it on a man. But surely it was not possible for a woman to be so big?

The head turned slightly, pale face now visible. Yes, a woman. She was not fair of face in the conventional sense; her features were rather sharp and very clean cut, with a strong jaw line. And yet there was a kind of otherworldly beauty about her - about the cleanness of the profile, in the grace of those fingers as they fashioned a shape out of the wood. Something that did not belong in this town of horsemen. An unusual aura. The man jerked as his neighbour nudged him with his elbow. "What?"

"Wake up. Your turn. What were you staring at?" He nodded towards the woman in the doorway; his companion looked slightly taken aback. "Is she a woman? Or a man? I see why you stare. She looks as if she is scarcely there at all."

Erethien looked up at the last comment, rather amused. There was very little that was special about her among her own people; in the eyes of the Elves, she never had been and would never be considered a beauty. Plain, even, many had said - as if Erethien had ever cared. She wondered briefly how the men would react to a particularly handsome Elda.

The man realised that she had seen him staring, and flushed a little as she addressed him. "Did you want me?"

"I -" he began, flustered. "Would you care to join us?" he said off the top of his head.

Erethien considered a moment, then nodded and walked over. "Gladly. Are you playing _malt celu_?"

"What?"

Erethien scowled inwardly as she realised that she had dropped into her native tongue, and sat down in a fluid movement that seemed out of place in the tavern. "Goldmine."

"Oh - yes. I am banking." He tried not to stare up at the woman who was easily four inches taller than he was - and he was a tall man.

The player on her right slapped two bronze coins on the table before speaking. "Win," he challenged before casting the five dice. He grinned broadly at two threes, and two fours. Not bad. The banker pulled a face before throwing just two fours. He sighed and flicked two coins in the man's direction, before turning to Erethien expectantly.

She fished in her pocket and slapped two bronze coins on the table - this, from her earlier observations, seemed to be the average stake. Erethien weighed the dice in her hand surreptitiously. Only two of them were weighted - both to show a four, she realised. _'I am likely to get at least one double, then.'_ "Win," she decided before throwing the dice. Erethien shook her head. Two fours, as she had suspected, but no other pairs. She raised an eyebrow at the banker, who grinned in return before throwing three threes. Erethien pushed her stake in his direction, before watching carefully how the dice fell for the rest of the group. Despite the general opinion that dice games consisted of nothing but luck, Erethien had long held the belief that skill and observation also had their influences on it.

Erethien won some games, lost others, but did nothing spectacular. She knew better than that and made a fairly steady profit, but not a quick one. _'Yet.'_ Again, the dice came round to her. And by now, she had a fairly good idea of what to expect. Erethien hesitated for a fraction of a second before putting a silver coin on the table. The banker watched her face carefully, but the Elf's countenance was inscrutable. "Feeling lucky?"

"Perhaps. More interesting this way… Lose." Erethien weighed the dice once more, then cast them onto the wooden surface, unobtrusively flicking one of the weighted dice as it left her hand. She raised an eyebrow in triumph as she saw how the dice had fallen - not a single pair, thanks to that canny flick of a finger as she threw. The dealer shook his head as he threw two fours. He sighed, and pushed her considerable winnings in her direction. "Some have all the luck."

Erethien almost laughed. _'Perhaps. In some ways, fortune is a thing that I appear to have an inordinate amount of. But you have much to learn about gambling, my friend. And Lady Luck can be very particular about whom she rides with. So the Valar only know why she rides with me.'_

Erethien shook her head with a slight smile, allowing slight surprise to register dishonestly on her features. "Chance would be a fine thing. But today I would appear to have fortune's favour."

Erethien played a few more rounds more conservatively, careful not to pull another stunt like her last one. These men were no fools, and she did not want to draw their suspicion. Presently, she glanced outside at the sun, and shook her head in surprise; it was well past midday. She had to go, tempting though it was to stay; it was a long time since she had had an opportunity to do this. Erethien laid the dice on the table. "I am sorry, but I must take my leave. I have already stayed too long."

"You mean, you will stop while you are ahead," the dealer retorted good-naturedly, picking up the bone cubes.

Erethien laughed. "Perhaps so," she admitted. "Good day."

"Good day…" The dealer stared after her for a moment. She was a paradox - plain and fair, unusual and inconspicuous. And that effortless feline grace, that aura about her which was impossible to place or explain. He jumped as an elbow was driven into his ribs. "What?"

"You are in the land of dreams today, Renward…"

-

Erethien disappeared swiftly into the crowds, checking briefly on Cerveth. The mare appeared to be fine - she was where her owner had left her, which was something. Erethien proceeded to pick up the finished map, which she paid for mainly out of her winnings. "There," she told Cerveth when she returned to her. "Who says that gambling never pays?"

Erethien tucked the map into the pack, which she buckled onto Cerveth. She led the mare towards the city gates, then stopped dead as she saw that the guard on them had been doubled. She was trapped - she had lingered here too long. It was now only a matter of time before she was caught. '_Damn that guard and his good memory!'_ she thought as she turned Cerveth and disappeared into he streets again. She needed to find another exit through which she could take Cerveth, or else to escape on foot. Unfortunately, Cerveth's presence made this impossible. Unless…

The Elf paused, as an idea occurred to her. She walked down a dark side street, until she saw a man who looked as if he suited her needs. He looked poor - middle aged and run down. Erethien approached him quietly, unobtrusively, and asked how many exits there were from the city.

"Only the one," he replied, surprised at her question. "Why?"

Erethien shook her head and fixed her gaze on him, grey-blue eyes commanding, compelling. "It is of no consequence. But I would ask a favour of you."

"What would that be?"

"Take my horse. Take her out of the city, and half a mile southeast - wait for me there. You can ride her; she is safe enough. If I do not come, then leave her there."

The peasant chewed his lip thoughtfully, surprised at the stranger's request, but willing enough. "What is in it for me?"

"Five silver coins."

The man only thought about it briefly - the stranger's offer was more than a fortnight's wages. "Done."

Erethien produced the silver, and handed him the lead rope. "If you are asked, say that she belongs to a local trader. And do not mention the money." The Elf murmured something quietly into the mare's ear. Cerveth swished her tail and regarded the man indifferently as Erethien handed him Cerveth's reins. The peasant nodded and led the bay mare away. Five silver coins was a lot of money, and he decided that he really did not want to know the stranger's intentions. The money would feed his family for a good while - that was all he wished or needed to be aware of.

Erethien watched him walk off, and hoped that she could trust him._ 'It is the only way,'_ she reminded herself. _'Reluctant as I am to entrust Cerveth and the pack to a stranger, I must escape from this place.'_ In any case, she knew that Cerveth, who was an intelligent animal, would certainly do the man a nasty injury if he tried to make off with anything. Erethien remembered the trouble she had had with the mare when she had first found her - Cerveth had been wild, untamed, wilful and very dangerous when annoyed. Fortunately, the years and several hard lessons had mellowed her considerably.

Erethien walked around, in sight of the city walls, but remaining with the market-day crowds, thankful for their cover. The walls of Edoras were tall and strong, protected by a thorny fence and a large ditch on the outside. _'This will be difficult,'_ she realised as she slipped through the throng of people and stalls. The walls were potentially climbable if she began from the roof of a house._ 'If that is to be my exit route, I will need a considerable diversion.' _

The elleth turned down another side street and was about to emerge into the market square when she saw a pair of sentries questioning passers by. Erethien shrank back into the shadows until they had passed, then walked swiftly through the crowds into another alley. She had no idea of where she was going, but keeping a low profile was now essential given that she probably had a price on her head by now.

As she slipped soundlessly through the maze of streets, Erethien took care to note any possible escape routes. A ladder leaning against a cottage caught her eye; the roof was being re-thatched. It was only a few feet from the city wall. Erethien knew that the ditch lay beyond the walls and the fence - beyond that lay Cerveth and freedom. Theoretically.

Erethien heard footsteps echoing behind her. She glanced behind her, and swore fervently under her breath. She had been a fool to come here. _'A fool. Fortune's fool.'_

"Who goes there?" the challenge rang out. Erethien sped up a little, vanishing round a corner and narrowly avoiding a collision with another sentry, who once recovered from his surprise, attempted to seize her by the arms. Erethien decided there and then that discretion was the better part of valour - and bolted.

Erethien sprinted through the winding lanes, twisting and doubling back, the guardsmen hot on her heels. Where was the cottage?_ 'Left. Then right.' _Another sentry appeared around a corner and made a lunge at her._ 'Elbereth!'_ She ducked underneath him and carried on running, knowing that this was almost entirely futile. But it was not in her nature to give up without a fight - even when it was in her best interests.

"Stop that woman!"

Erethien sprinted down an empty side street, realising too late that she was cornered; at the other end was a circle of guardsmen, several of whom were pointing drawn bows at her. Slowly, reluctantly, Erethien raised her hands.

One of her pursuers bound her arms tightly behind her, clapping a hand over her mouth. Erethien bit him, and earned a curse and a slap to the face. But he did not do it again. Erethien scowled as she was led up to the Golden Hall with a large entourage of guards. Clearly they had learned their lesson not to take any chances with her.

Eventually, she was led into a dark chamber with whitewashed walls, bare of furniture but for a table and a chair. A small man turned around unhurriedly, hands clasped behind his back. "So," he pronounced slowly, almost silkily. "A spy."

"I am not a spy!" Erethien exclaimed indignantly, though it was true that she had had dealings in that area in her past. Quite a lot of dealings, as it happened. The guard holding her tightened his grip. "Silence, Elf."

Erethien ignored him. "Would somebody mind telling me what is going on?" she demanded. The man looked at her dispassionately; Erethien's lip curled. This man was not one of the Rohirrim; his skin was pale and sallow, with black greasy hair. He looked like a snake. But it was his manner, not his appearance that repulsed her. "A spy," he repeated, walking towards her slowly. "What is your name?"

"Sibilgeleb," she responded, using one of her many aliases and false identities that she had collected over the years.

"Sibilgeleb - Silver Dagger. That would indeed fit in with some of the reports I have heard of you," he commented. "Do you know what we do with spies in Edoras, Sibilgeleb?" he asked softly, the cold, smooth syllables making Erethien's skin crawl. But her face remained impassive and inscrutable after her initial outburst.

"Given that I am not a spy," she responded calmly, "it makes no difference to me what you do with them."

His face inched towards hers, dark blue-grey eyes cold and unconcerned. Erethien shivered imperceptibly as she realised why he disturbed her so._ 'His eyes,'_ she realised. _'His eyes are like mine. Slate grey. Stone cold.'_ He brought his face inches from her own. "And can you prove it?" he asked her almost sweetly, condescendingly. Erethien resisted the urge to kick his teeth in. "If it be proof that you look for, I should stop looking; neither of us have any," she snapped, feeling her ire rise. She had a feeling that she was going to get violent, ill advised though it was.

He dismissed her statement. "Oh, I believe that threatening death to a patrol captain and breaking into the city are sufficient charges without that of spying," he replied blandly. He tapped her chin. "I do hope you are not going to bite me," he commented lightly.

Erethien pushed down the impulse to spit in his face. "I have far better taste than that," she retorted, despite having bitten her captor not so long ago. This man made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end - and Erethien was not easily disgusted.

The man shook his head at her in a disapproving fashion. "Tsk tsk. Such a temper. Lock her up," he ordered the men, who dragged Erethien away as she wondered what exactly the point of that little encounter had been._ 'Because if it was intimidation, it did not work. And I know full well that they will not put me to death immediately; they will want information from me. Which I will be unable to give.' _

Erethien, now known as Sibilgeleb, was taken to a small room adjoining an underground corridor. The sentries had forcibly disarmed her, leaving her more obvious weapons in a room along the way. Erethien had carefully remembered its exact whereabouts; she would need to pick them up again if she escaped. _'If,'_ she reminded herself. The dungeons of Meduseld appeared very secure, from what she had seen of it so far, though the guards were somewhat sloppy, and none too plentiful. Erethien suspected that the real difficulty would be breaking out of the actual prison, rather than getting past the guards.

The sentries left her with her hands bound, in the room with a small, wiry man. It was bare and bleak, rather shadowy. The man stepped out of the shadows and began to speak. "The guards are outside," he informed her. "I will unbind your hands - but if I do, running would be most unwise, and mainly futile. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," she replied shortly.

"Good." He removed the rope binding her arms. Erethien did not trouble to run; she knew it was useless. "Turn and face the wall. Hands in the air." He proceeded to search her thoroughly, discovering several hidden knives - two in her bracers. "Your name?" he asked.

"Sibilgeleb."

"For a civilian visit, you appear to be carrying a rather large amount of weaponry," he commented. His manner was informal, almost casual. His searching, creeping fingers made Erethien long to turn around and hit him. She hated being searched.

She was turned to face him. "What exactly have I done that you want to lock me in here?"

The man smiled, showing white teeth. "You know as well as I do. As well as the rest of Edoras soon will." Fingers came into contact with the stone that hung around her neck. Erethien's heart rate accelerated and she felt a tingle of adrenaline shoot through her. Not pain, but close. Familiar feelings of instability were creeping back like bad dreams.

"Well, well. What is this, then?"

'_The pendant," _she thought_. 'Morgoth take it, they will not have that.'_ "A trinket," she replied carelessly. "Nothing more."

"Then you would not mind if I just… took it away?" His hands made to unfasten the complicated clasp; Erethien seized his wrists. "Incidentally, I _would_ mind."

"Really? Would you care to tell me why?"

Erethien hesitated. "It…was my mother's. She died very young, I was but nine."

The man's expression softened a little. A very little. "And what would she want with a lump of obsidian?"

"It was her mother's before her… something of a family token. That is all."

"Then you will not mind if we take it to be examined, before returning it to you."

Erethien fought to keep fear from registering on her face as she folded her arms. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we forcibly restrain you and I do it in any case."

Erethien hit him so hard that he crashed straight through the inner door's rotten wood.

-

Erethien scowled at the barred iron door of her cell. Three guards had had to threaten to beat her into submission before she had consented to them examining the object while it was still attached to her neck. The strange, hostile fingers on its surface had disgusted her, unnerved her. The men were not savages; to some extent, they were men of honour, and she knew that she was lucky for that. But their fingers - those touching, impure fingers probing that stone still had the power to make her feel threatened and claustrophobic.

But it had been necessary. Not that she was afraid of taking a beating, but she needed to be in fairly good shape if she was to escape. They had let her keep the pendant after she pointed out that it would not come off her neck, given that nobody but she could undo the clasp - it had been made and created to serve her bidding, and she knew it would not undo unless she willed it so. Such was the make of Elvish goods. Unless, that was, if they took a hammer and tongs to the chain - which was too great a risk, as they wanted the information that they believed she had. Erethien planned to escape before they realised that she did not in fact know anything. _'As if,'_ she thought despondently, gaze boring a hole in the stone wall. She had considered picking the lock of the door, but unfortunately she had nothing to pick it with - an obstacle that not even an expert lock picker like herself could overcome.

Erethien glanced at the other objects in the cell, which at present were a stool and a jug. She envisaged breaking a leg off the stool and beating the pale man to death with it. Her jailer _did_ have a spectacular and rather satisfying black eye now that he had come round._ 'I will snap a leg off the stool,'_ she decided, _'and break his nose with it.'_

The Elf abandoned this rather unproductive train of thought as an idea occurred to her suddenly._ 'I am heavily guarded; I think I can get out of here, but I will need to engineer a diversion. A major diversion.'_ She fingered a thick, padded area of cloth on her tunic; something that the searchers, for all their thoroughness, had not picked up on. It contained some dried, powdered mushroom. It was not as potent as fresh, but still effective enough for her purposes. One of the advantages of a somewhat cynical and paranoid outlook on life - Erethien was usually well prepared for almost all eventualities, with several tricks up her sleeve. Almost literally.

Unfortunately, Erethien had forgotten the exact properties of the mushroom that she had sewn into her clothing._ 'It could be of several varieties, but it is certainly toxic or at the very least hallucinogenic. Or both.'_ Whichever proved to be true, Erethien did not have much choice. Carefully, she snapped a loose thread in the hemming, and unravelled the stitching until she could remove the thin wrapping of cloth. With a glance out of the door, she unwrapped it a little. A grey-brown powder lay on the scrap of linen. Erethien smiled slightly, and pushed the package under the straw. The time would come.

-

Presently, Erethien was joined by a questioner, who lost no time in informing her of the penalties for spying in Edoras. "However," he continued, "If you give us sufficient information, we shall perhaps be more lenient on you."

Erethien instantly dismissed this. From what she guessed or knew from her previous dealings in the shadows of the intelligence networks, the man's statement was highly unlikely. "Really?" she commented disinterestedly.

"Did you have any companions?"

"No."

The man sighed. "Sibilgeleb, your companions have already been captured and have confessed. By your silence you harm none but yourself."

Erethien almost laughed aloud. This technique was an old one - and one that, in this particular instance, would prove unhelpful. "Please, do not insult me by attempting to play mind games," the elleth replied lazily. "I am probably more skilled at them than you are."

"Their names?"

"They have none."

"Ah, so you _do_ have companions."

Erethien raised an eyebrow. "They have no names because they do not exist."

"Spies do not operate singly."

"Then perhaps that should tell you that I am not a spy."

"Who sent you?"

Erethien had been expecting this question. There was no lie she could give him that would not land her in deeper trouble than she was already in - either with them if she claimed allegiance to the Darkness, or with the rulers of the lands she claimed to be spying for. The Steward of Gondor, for instance, would not have been pleased if Rohan believed he was spying on them. "No one sent me."

"Do not play me for a fool, Sibilgeleb."

Erethien stared at him coolly. "I serve no flag and I fight for no country. I have no ties of political allegiance. If anyone sent me, I sent myself. Or the will of the Valar did. Whichever you prefer."

The man studied her grimly for a moment, then left, with a low whisper to the sentry near the door. Erethien knew what would come next. They would send in someone large and intimidating to shout at her, then the more soft-spoken questioner would return - and the prisoner, fully traumatised, would confess. In theory. Fortunately, Erethien was very difficult to intimidate. Usually it ended up the other way round.

Sure enough, a large, thickset man appeared and stuck his scarred face against the bars. "Do you know who I am?"

"No. Nor do I particularly care."

"Silence! You will answer my questions. Or I will use the considerable range of… options available to one in my position," he informed her, with a slight hint of relish. "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

"Oh, perfectly clear," Erethien replied, unfazed, from her sitting position.

"What are the names of your companions?"

Erethien sighed in a long-suffering manner. "Must I repeat myself at every turning? I have none."

The man's upper lip drew back in a snarl. "I asked WHAT their names are! NOT TO HEAR YOUR LIES!" He unlocked the cell and entered, the sentry locking it behind him with a clang. He stuck his ugly face up against hers. "What are their names?"

Erethien noted silently that his volume was certainly impressive, if nothing else. "I told you - given that these fictitious companions do not exist, neither do they have names."

"NONE OF YOUR CHEEK!" He reached down and dealt a stinging slap to her face. He then cracked his knuckles. "And unless you wish to feel this fist upon your face," he added, "WHO SENT YOU?"

"I sent myself. Why not ask the other man?" She jerked her head lazily towards the passage. "He can tell you." She doubted he would hit her. And if he did, he would live to regret it. The men of Rohan were honourable, but she suspected that their conduct might relax a little in the case of a spy.

"I know of your kind, Elf." He spoke the name of her race as if it were filthy, contaminated. "You are none of you to be trusted, you least of all." He waved his fist in her face again. "Keep this image in your head as you answer! Who sent you?"

Erethien pretended to consider. "So basically, I tell you - or you personally beat me into a pulp." The Elf did her best to keep from smirking. Very few people had the nerve to threaten Erethien with physical violence. He was either very brave, or very stupid. Probably the latter.

The man sneered. "Yes. Essentially."

Erethien snorted. "Lasta o lalaith nín, adan. Lasta o lalaith nín."

"You are aware of how rude it is to speak in a tongue that your companion does not understand?" he snarled.

Erethien grinned slowly, infuriatingly. "Oh, quite aware, I assure you." She chuckled derisively. "Listen to my laughter, mortal. Listen to my laughter. I could beat you and kill you in a straight fight without breaking a sweat."

The guard rolled up his sleeve to reveal bulging muscles. "Really? I could snap you like a twig. In one hand." He pulled back to hit her; Erethien rose fluidly to her feet in the blink of an eye.

The guard, ready to throw a punch, hesitated as he realised that the elleth was staring coolly down at him from a very considerable height of six feet seven inches. He blinked. This woman was big. Very, very big. And judging by her build, she was also very strong. He dropped his fist, shaking his head. "But why should I waste my energy, when I can get someone else to do it for me?"

Erethien had to give the man his due - he had recovered himself quickly. It invariably amused her, however, the way that adversaries tended to think twice once they saw just _how_ big Erethien actually was. "Really?"

"Oh yes." He smirked. "I wonder, Sibilgeleb. I wonder how long it will take."

"Are you going to fight me? Or not? Perhaps I was mistaken, but I believe that was your intention until I stood up. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

Erethien folded her arms and smirked, leaning against the wall of her cell. "Not afraid of me, are you?"

"Afraid of you, Elf? I could throw you a great deal further than I trust you." He decreased the distance between them, but the intimidating effect was rather ruined by the fact that Erethien, even when not standing straight, was fully six inches taller than the man.

Erethien snorted. "Not a very impressive boast, given that you do not trust me at all." She raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I fear you." Her scorn was undisguised, evident in her voice. The man glared daggers at her, and shoved his face into hers one last time before he left.

"Be careful, Elf. Just be careful whom you antagonise in here. You are my prisoner. And we hold all the advantages here."

He stalked out, making an unnecessary amount of clatter with his keys and slamming the door after him. Erethien grinned in triumph. She always had enjoyed these little face offs. The Elf fingered the torn seam on the tunic. All she could do now was hope for an opportunity.

-

Erethien waited for a long time, using her knowledge of carpentry to loosen one of the stool's legs. It was poorly made, though the wood was strong. The polite questioner returned presently, and got even less out of her than before. Erethien knew that her days here were numbered. Hours passed, and she made a few offensive gestures at the guard, who shouted at her from time to time. It helped to break up the monotony as she unobtrusively scratched a small hole underneath the door, refilling it with loose earth every time he looked up.

Eventually, the guard changed a few hours after nightfall and another much younger man came on duty, clutching a jug of something and a large glass. He put the pitcher down just out of Erethien's reach, and walked up and down the row a few times before pouring another glass. The guard then made a serious error by setting the jug down rather carelessly near Erethien's cell. Not that he had any way of guessing her intentions; he was new to his job and, fortunately for Erethien, somewhat thoughtless.

Erethien knew that she had no time to waste. She grabbed the little scrap of cloth and waited for the man's back to turn before unrolling it carefully and tipping its contents into his large jug. Erethien then retreated quietly to the back of the cell, feigning interest in the stool as she continued to work a leg loose. Fortune was clearly riding with her today. For now, at least.

It was not long before the tainted water he had consumed affected the guard. He sat slumped against a wall, staring quizzically at the floor - apparently it had become rather fascinating.

Erethien stifled a laugh and proceeded to twist the stool's leg off. The guard did not respond, continuing to gaze in awe at the floor, which he now pronounced to be made of orange velvet. He mumbled something incomprehensible at it before slumping onto his side. Clearly he was no longer a threat. She scooped the loose earth from under the door, placing the stool's leg underneath and using it as a lever.

She pushed on the other end firmly, watching with satisfaction as, inch by inch, the iron door lifted off its hinges. This was one of her better ideas._ 'Unlike coming here in the first place,'_ she reminded herself as she caught the door before it fell, and leant it against the wall with a great effort - still attached by the padlock at one end. Erethien seized the stool leg and crept behind the befuddled guard, using it to knock him senseless before she ran for it.

Erethien slipped into the corridor, making for the room where her weapons had been left. She placed a palm on the door, listening for voices and feeling for any vibration. Nothing. She pushed the door open quickly, knowing that doors tended to creak when opened slowly. It was empty. Erethien breathed a sigh of relief, and lost no time in recovering her property.

And then, suddenly, she heard voices. Voices and footsteps, echoing her way. Erethien froze. Someone was coming up from the dungeons or the cellars. She hesitated a moment, then slipped out into the corridor - and bolted upstairs into Meduseld proper.

Erethien's luck then deserted her as an elderly man spotted her emerging from the stairwell. He gave a cry of alarm, and two guards burst out of a doorway. Erethien swore and made for the nearest exit - which happened to be a corridor to her right. _'This is unfair,'_ she thought somewhat childishly as she ran over the floor tiles on soundless feet. _'It is night time - there should be nobody about! Valar, get me out of this somehow.'_

The Valar, however, appeared entirely deaf to her wishes as a woman stepped out of a bedchamber bearing a candle. She also gave a cry of surprise and alarm. Erethien froze for a moment, aware that she was cornered, then ran into the opposite chamber. It proved to be occupied. The young woman burst in at the doorway, brandishing a large poker - clearly the first weapon that had come to hand. Erethien swung her legs over the windowsill and, with but a momentary hesitation, dropped five feet to the sloping ground. She did not glance back, but sprinted in the direction of the half thatched cottage she had seen earlier.

By this time, all of Meduseld was in uproar. Erethien cursed her luck and thanked the Valar for her sense of direction as she ran through the moonlit streets, hearing her pursuers some way behind her. _'Well, clearly I was unsuccessful in a quiet escape,'_ she observed darkly as she turned down another lane. _'And if I get out of here alive, I shall have good grounds for self-congratulation.'_ She sprinted the length of the lane, then set one foot on the ladder. Erethien hesitated - on a roof, picked out against the stars, she would make an excellent target. But it was too late to worry about that now. She swiftly climbed onto the half-thatched roof, crawling along the wooden ridgepole until she reached the opposite, newly thatched gable. Erethien carefully eyed the distance between the roof and the wall. _'About four feet,'_ she estimated. Erethien took a deep breath, stood up, and jumped.

She landed atop the wall and threw herself down flat upon the stone, catching her breath for a moment before making a flying leap from the top of the outer wall, just barely clearing the hedge and dropping twenty feet down the other side into the deep ditch.

It was only when her ankle buckled, sending shooting pain up her left leg, that Erethien recalled exactly why she had been forbidden to jump from windows as a child. _'But if need be, I can deal with that later. I am fortunate that Edoras' defences are built to keep people out rather than in. Indeed, I am fortunate in many things tonight. Perhaps too many.'_ An arrow whistled past her ear as she climbed painfully up the steep bank. Erethien swore, scrambling up the other side. She grinned in triumph - she had escaped._ 'But I shall celebrate later. When I have found Cerveth… then I can celebrate.'_ She glanced briefly at the stars, and sprinted off into the darkness. She knew that she would soon become practically invisible - such was the gift of her kind - but if a search party were sent out, she stood little chance.

Erethien ran, limping slightly, for a good ten minutes. Her keen ears could catch the sound of horses not far away. She cursed again, and listened to the night. _'Where is Cerveth?'_ Erethien could hear a familiar whinny somewhere nearby. "Cerveth!" she called. "Cerveth, tolo-sí!"

Nothing. Erethien closed her eyes and called again, concentrating on how badly she needed the mare. Whatever anyone else said, Erethien knew that horses were highly perceptive animals, sensitive to moods in people - Elves in particular. And Cerveth, having spent most of her life with Erethien, was very highly tuned to the Elf's moods. Not through any skill on Erethien's part, but through a natural link.

"Cerveth!" Erethien called desperately. Hooves sounded behind her. She was trapped. A horse pushed her arm from behind with her nose. Erethien turned around. The bay mare stood ready, the pack still on her back - the villager had not betrayed her trust. Or else Cerveth had sent him packing.

"Cerveth! Valar, you are wonderful." She hauled herself onto the mare as another arrow pierced the night, whistling past her face. "Noro, Cerveth!" _'Run, Cerveth,'_ Erethien thought silently. _'Run as you never have before.'_

The mare responded eagerly, hooves thudding on the turf. Horse and rider were silhouetted for an instant against the clear sky, the Sickle of the Valar swinging overhead. Presently, Erethien glanced behind her; the search party had lost sight and sound of her to the night. Erethien grinned as the wind whipped against her face.

She was free.

As you may have noticed, the game described is actually called Casino Klondike. The word "Klondike" actually means a rich source of wealth… so I roughly translated this into "gold source" in Elvish, and "Goldmine" in Common. Heh, poetic license. J

Lyrics taken from _Midnight Is A Place_, by Joan Aiken. Good book, I recommend it.

tolo-sí- come here!

Sibilgeleb - silver dagger

Sickle of the Valar - the Big Dipper (constellation)

Noro, Cerveth - run, Cerveth

Malt celu - gold source. (See note.)

Renward - Horse guard (old English.)

Leofwine - Dear friend. (Old English… from Behind the Name.)

Elleth – female elf.

A/N: Erethien's escape method is actually possible - there is precedent among the POWs in Colditz Castle for taking a door off its hinges and escaping. I never thought of it first! ;-D

REVIEWER RESPONSES:

**Night-Owl123, Dust in the Wind:** (bows) Your wish is my command...

**Spootasia: **Gotta love your name! Thanks for your encouragement - no more exams now! (is happy)

**FoolishlyBraveShadowedStar:** If you like! I was thinking of just a random captain, but it doesn't really matter.

**Lintulinda...:** Your name is also cool, but very long for a lazy girl like me! LOL. I responded by email, but who cares? I am a serious fan of your fic, so I was very honoured when you reviewed mine!

**Morwen Eleniel:** Thankies! Your comment has also been pointed out to me on another site... hopefully I can clear up some discrepancies with background. Background is complicated. (muses)

Thanks again! Go on, the button is so close. You know you want to.

ITHILDIEL


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